


hell's Child

by AllHeilMe



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14551446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHeilMe/pseuds/AllHeilMe
Summary: A man, born from agony, uses his pain and misfortune to do what he thinks deserving. The one called Armilus, seemingly ages too slow to be natural, but not immortal. A clash between what is known in the church and what is true, is revealed to him. A child of hell.





	hell's Child

**Author's Note:**

> This is neither meant to insult, nor blaspheming of any religious beliefs. Mythology told may be similar to preexisting ones. The story told will be made for entertainment and not for preaching Satanic views or anti-christain views. Reader discretion is advised.

༅ A DEEP BLUE LIGHT filters through the blinds of the window, as flashing neon lights on a stretching billboard outside blurs the night sky in a hazy blue. Sounds of engines zooming by the adjacent street echo in a cold metallic hiss. In the apartment, a single light emits from the computer screen on Armilus’s lap. Cold, damp and heavy his clothes feel, hanging loosely on his skin. Large streaks of deep crimson red splattered on the white collared shirt, looking black as ink from the outside hue. On the screen, the cursor hanging on the refresh button, impatiently awaiting the results of the governing election. Click… click… click… Not yet. Click… click… click… His eyes dart between the time, blinking rhythmically as each minute passes. A minute to midnight. 

༅”NO I CANNOT COME” Armilus’s voice rasps out, the cup of old, almost fermented coffee meets his lips, forcing an equal disgust into his words. “I've told you, people fear me. They are right to.”  
“Why? Because you just love giving them a reason to be, or because of that frostbite blue tint you have to your skin? Im one for color but you may need concealer for that”. Her voice smooth and calm, yet sharp and impossible to read.  
“Nevertheless, I don't need more suspicion lain upon me. If people see me walking in and out of this shit hole, they might get the right idea”. He pursed his lips, both from the sour drink, and the inevitable ‘i-’  
“I'm still paying for that little mess of yours. You know, back at the city. It took a lot of mouths to silence, and a curious maid to clean up. Not a lot of people are on standby for clean up. And furthermore-”  
“Fuck you! Fine! Fine! Finefinefinefine. Just text me when and where and i will see what i can do.”  
“Good! See you there, and I will see you there. And consider the concealer. That wasn't a joke”. she hangs on the line long enough to hear a disgruntled sigh before ending the call.  
Closing the phone, he tosses the tracphone down on the maroon couch, tattered and weathered beyond comfortability. Like him in many ways.  
He paces over to the window, the sun now high above the aquamarine horizon, and people start to dissipate as morning traffic trickles down to a drip. His eyes search for any signs of life below, a person walking their dog, a mother on her way to the park with her toddler, or an unsuspecting van waiting for movement on his end. Nothing.  
He rushes to the makeshift bathroom that consisted of a faucet from a now long gone sink, and a bucket by a large shard of mirror duct taped to the wall. With a quick wash up, and a fresher change of clothes with minimal spillage on it, he finally catches a glimpse of his reflection. The sunlight casting a pale glow through the empty skylight frame of the warehouse, landing on his skin. Indeed blue, a sickly blue. The blue that tattoo the victims of drownings, avalanches, or blue food dye no°1.  
For him, the latter would have been far more funny. It always seemed to be for others of course. A call out to him about it, with slurred speech as they exited the bar. The lacky thinking it’s the funniest thing since the knock knock joke. A stumble closer and a sneeze away him, his eyes meets his friends for a split second as it follows the spine chilling crack of his neck, skin tearing at the collar. Eyes draining color that echoed in the lacky’s eyes. Time seems slower than normal, the body taking at least twice as slow to hit the ground than it should. A few circuits in the man's head may have been miswired as only a pained chuckle escapes his throat at the sight. Probably from disbelief. Allowing Armulis to take a few steps closer and putting his hand upon his face and bashing it into the wall like an impatient rapping at a door. It would have been funny.  
Looking down at his new attire, he guesses the drunk owl could have been a lawyer or an accountant. Late night at the bar and still in his work clothes. Either divorced or soon to be.  
He slicks back his long dark hair, and neatly ties it in a ponytail. Though the woman whose contact is the only one in his phone likes to use allusion with a horse’s ass. Who must have sent a text, based off the buzzing from the other room.  
Walking back to the couch, he flips open the phone and reads the message. 

[FORKED TONGUED HOTEL. 12 O’CLOCK. LOOK PRESENTABLE]

He pulls back one of the cushions and pulls out a metal jug. Uncapping it and begins to pour the clear liquid on the couch and phone, before a straight line to the window. He fishes for a lighter out of the pocket, and lights the gas. He tosses it and looks back out of the window. Hopping up on the sil, and jumps out onto the roof of the lower topped building underneath.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are highly preferred. constructive criticism is highly revered.


End file.
